Blue
by gf7
Summary: Stella offers an ear and some kind words after a case gets personal for Adam. Some language, implied but not shown violence and child abuse. Spoilers: Adam's admission that his father was a "bully" from Some Buried Bones S3 .


**Author's Note: This is my first CSI NY fic, just some late night thoughts that got into my head. I adore me some Adam. Any and all feedback is welcomed.**

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A girl he'd wasted entirely too much time lusting after in college had once told him drinking alone was for those who were looking to hurt themselves. She'd been a great friend, someone he'd wanted desperately to love him the way he loved her, but she'd considered him more girlfriend than boyfriend material.

The story of his life, he mused as he lifted a mug of beer up.

By his count it was number three on the night.

Number three and he was still drinking alone.

Apparently still looking to hurt himself.

"You want another?" the barkeep asked warily, examining him for any signs of dangerous intoxication.

The Barkeep needn't have worried; he wasn't the type to get mean when he got drunk, he was the type to get chatty. The type to let far too many secrets out. Too much pain flashing around.

Bitterly he thought to himself, "well to late for that, now isn't it?"

"Yes? No?" the Barkeep asked again.

"Yep, pretty please," Adam Ross said, his voice a bit high, a bit chipper even. He added a half-assed smile onto the end of it, one that was apparently odd because the Barkeep moved away quickly.

"I think he thinks you're getting fresh with him," a voice said from behind him. He didn't even bother turning; he knew the voice well.

"I figured it'd be Danny. Or Lindsay."

"Sorry to disappoint," the gentle female voice replied. "You mind if I sit?"

"Disappoint, no. Sit, sure, but I think you'll regret it."

She didn't answer that, instead casually dropping herself onto the stool next to his. He turned to face her, taking in her features. Beautiful, exotic, a whole lot of other words that all meant the same thing.

Stunning. Stella Bonasera was somewhere beyond stunning.

But she was more than that. She was also real. Not just some beautiful woman with a ten-cent brain and a million dollar body. No, she was the whole package. Smart, gorgeous and fiercely loyal. She was tough as nails when she had to be, but had a heart as big as the city of New York.

A moment passed as she glanced at the glass mug in his hand. Her eyes drifted up towards the Barkeep, who held up three fingers and then indicated towards the new one he was carrying over.

"I'll take that," she said softly. The Barkeep nodded and handed it to her. She took a sip from it, her eyebrow going up. This wasn't piss-water beer; this was hard ale, the kind of stuff that could get you looped in a hurry.

"I'm not drunk," Adam told her quickly.

"If you say so." She put the mug down on the hard wood bartop.

"No, I'm not. You know how I know I'm not?"

Gamely, she replied, "How?"

"Because I'm not talking about Him. If I was talking about Him, then I know I'd be drunk, but I'm not talking about Him so I must not be drunk."

"Uh huh." Stella replied. She looked up again, saw the Barkeep washing down the bar, hearing every word, pretending not to. "Adam, why don't we go over to that table over there, okay?"

"I'm fine here."

"I know," she said, standing up and gently taking him by the arm. "But I still think we should go over there."

"No one ever says 'no' to you, do they?"

"Mac does," she chuckled.

"Nah," he laughed. He didn't even seem to have noticed that she had walked him all the way over to a secluded table in the corner of the bar. She helped him down into the booth, then took the seat opposite him.

"Adam, I'm here if you need to talk," she opened up with.

He shrugged. "I don't need to. I'm okay." He sounded almost boyish when he spoke, his eyes looking down at the table.

"Even if you don't need to…if you just want to, I'm here for that, too."

He said nothing, his fingers reaching out to scratch at the wood surface of the table. They traced over the words ROXANN WAS HERE.

Realizing that he wasn't going to say anything else, Stella leaned in towards him and touched his hand gently. The contact caused him to look up. "I know…I know it's hard when one of these cases steps over the line. Gets personal."

"It's not personal."

They both knew that he was lying. He just wasn't very good at it. Which was strange, he figured. Maybe if he'd been better at lying, maybe then his entire childhood would have turned out differently…

Vaguely, he realized that Stella was speaking again.

"Adam, I know that It reminds you of…"

He quickly cut her off. "Him. Yeah, but you brought Him up first. Not me."

"So that means you're sober," she said, trying to keep her tone light.

And to her relief, her attempt to make him smile worked. His face broke out in a grin and he laughed. "Exactly!"

"Exactly," she echoed. A beat and then, "So the case…"

And that seemed to do it because suddenly he was talking. Fast, his tone full of old pain and bloody unhealed wounds.

"Isn't…wasn't…it's not personal. I mean it is, all of these kids, I feel bad for them. They have terrible lives, people who are supposed to love them and hold them and teach them how to throw a curveball. "

He was looking down again, staring at his hands.

"A curveball, huh?"

He shrugged. "Never learned how to throw one. But it's all how you hold the ball, you know? Physics. And how you twist your wrist and arm delivery and…well I never learned how to do it, but I know how. I built a program to teach myself how to throw the perfect one."

"Right," she nodded.

"But that little boy, he'll never learn how." His hands clenched. "Because that bastard took it away from him."

"Adam," she said gently.

"It just, it isn't fair. He didn't do anything wrong. Kids, they're not supposed to always remember to do the dishes. They forget. They think about skateboarding and playing on the computer. We think about running through sprinklers, not soap and dishes."

"Adam."

He looked up. "What?"

"You said 'we'."

"Oh. I meant…I didn't mean…"

"I know what you meant. And it's okay. If you want to talk about it, we can. If you don't want to, we don't have to. I can just stay with you until you feel better."

"I'm not sure…I'm not sure I'm supposed to feel better," he replied.

She let that hang for a moment. Thinking about it, turning it over in her mind. She was the last one to tell anyone not to take something personal.

But then, they all made that mistake.

Mac, Danny, Lindsay, Flack, all of them.

Even Adam.

And sometimes the job and it's closeness to every kind of monster crawled under your skin and brought you to face to face with your own personal hell. She'd certainly been there before.

A product of the foster system, a survivor of many a terrible relationship.

Who was she to tell someone not to get personally involved? Who was she to push the whole "don't let it get to you" line of bullshit?

And so she didn't.

She'd come over here to help him, knowing that his quick and silent departure from the lab – an exit which had been noticed by all of his friends – meant that he was hurting.

Meant that he needed someone to reach out to him.

Someone to be there for him.

Danny had offered, Lindsay had said she'd go with, but ultimately Stella had decided that it was her job.

More than a job.

Adam was more than a co-worker. A friend who had shown her enormous compassion during some of the worst hours of her life.

And though turnaround wasn't a requirement of friendship, it was a necessity. It was something she needed to do.

She needed to be there for him as much as he needed someone to be there.

"Adam," she began again, her tone sharp but somehow gentle. She was trying to force his attention, trying to make sure he heard her.

And he did, his eyes once again meeting hers.

Good.

And so she continued. "We do the best we can. The nature of our job means that we don't always get to save people, but we do get to stop them from hurting anyone else. That man? He will never hurt another child. Ever. And you're the reason for that."

"Me? I just…"

"No matter what you think, you were better than Him. He may have been in your head the whole time, but you kept your focus and you helped solved the case and you helped put that son of a bitch away forever. You beat Him. Okay? You beat Him."

She realized that anyone who was eavesdropping on the conversation would be mighty confused about who she was talking about.

But Adam wasn't. And in the end, that was all that mattered anyway.

Adam swallowed hard and looked quickly away. He coughed and cleared his throat, but still didn't look up. She smiled just slightly, pretty sure she knew why he was unable to make eye contact, willing to let him have the moment of emotion.

Finally, "I…He…I don't…I don't know what to say about Him." He still wasn't looking up.

"Ask Mac how to throw a curveball," she said gently and this time he looked up, surprised and unsure. Again, she smiled. "Family isn't just moms and dads, Adam. It's your friends. We're your friends. And we are here for you. All of us."

He nodded then, everything quickly becoming too much. "I, uh…I should go. I should get home and sleep…sleep this off." He tried to jump to his feet, but a spell of dizziness threatened to topple him.

She reached out and grabbed his arm, steadying him. "I'll call you a cab."

"No, I'm just a block from here. I want to walk. I need…air…"

"Okay."

She stepped away from him, watched as he fumbled in his pockets for cash, coins spilling out.

"Adam, I've got it."

"Oh, okay. I'll…I'll pay you back tomorrow, I promise."

She nodded. He jammed his hands back into his pockets and headed for the door. Just before he got there, he turned back. "Stella?"

She looked up at him.

"Thanks."

She smiled and again nodded. He turned and exited. She watched him go, watched the door swing shut and then crossed over to the bar and dropped back down onto the stool.

She picked up the still mostly full mug of ale and brought it to her lips. This time she took a healthy swig.

And waited for someone to come looking for her.

-Fin.


End file.
